


Incubus: Chance Encounter

by Crimson1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU Season 8, First Time, M/M, Sirens, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garth asks Sam and Dean to help another hunter on a case, who Dean hits it off with and then ends up with in an intimate encounter he doesn't know how to run away from. Set during AU Season 8, ambiguous timeframe but before the trials start. An incubus and a siren...I'll let you figure out who the OMC is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you might know me on FF.net as the author of the long ago but still occasionally added to epic fanficton Incubus, in which the Winchesters team up with an incubus who has the hots for Dean, and he changes their lives forever. This is both my attempt to include my OMC in current season, and promote the original version of Incubus, that is set to publish soon, the first of three books. Changed enough to not obviously be Supernatural, the book will be out soon, with lots of sex and Supernatural nods. In the meantime, here's Dean embracing his bisexual side with an OMC who might not be strictly human.

Dean hadn’t been surprised when Garth called and said he’d meet them at the nearest burger place for lunch. Even though Garth shouldn’t know where they were. And hadn’t called ahead, other than fifteen minutes before said lunchtime. They had sort of resigned themselves to Garth being their resident Q/Bosley/not-quite-Bobby-but-still-pretty-damn-awesome stalker, and nothing surprised them anymore when it came to the dentist turned hunter. He was an enigma. 

He’d also already ordered for them by the time they arrived at the burger joint, and had ordered eerily well, so neither Dean nor Sam decided to protest. They needed a case anyway, while they waited for Kevin to reveal the secrets of the tablet, and Garth was always good for that.

“So what’s up?” Dean asked, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. “You just happen to be passing through?”

“Yes, actually,” Garth said with a slight upturn of his impressive nose and a touch of earned superiority. “Kevin’s fine, don’t worry there, but I got a call for a case this way, so…here I am.”

“You got a case?” inquired Sam. “So…this is just a lunch date? Nothing for us?”

Garth looked crestfallen, and dramatically put a hand to his chest. “Such takers.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, we just figured you had a case for us. We’ll take the date. Assuming you’re paying.” He flashed a grin, and shoved in another fry.

“So much for pleasant non-apocalyptic conversation,” Garth sighed. “I do have something for you guys, too. Had a call from another hunter when I hit the road, but as I’m headed in the opposite direction, I thought I’d throw you two a bone. Siren case, which I know you’ve worked before, and Sasha’s having a hard time tracking the perp down. Feel like a trip to Manhattan? Kansas, now, so don’t get too excited.”

“Sure, that’s only a few hours from here,” Sam said. They had been in The Bunker when Garth pinpointed their location to within 20 miles, which was on the outskirts of Lebanon, KS.

Dean froze as he was about to lift his burger. “Sasha, huh? Didn’t think there were any hunter chicks left.”

“There are plenty, just not any you’ve met recently,” Garth said, a slight quirk to his mouth to prove he had met all of them. “But sorry to disappoint again. Family name. Sasha’s not a chick.”

Dean deflated and took a bite of his burger to lift his spirits. Just his luck—a dude named Sasha.

“So he just can’t find the siren?” Sam asked, hunching a little more than he needed to over the table; something he always seemed to do subconsciously in mixed company since, even sitting, he was ridiculously tall. “He knows for sure that’s what it is?”

“Seems pretty sure. And he…knows these kinds of cases. He just needs an extra set of hands. Or two.”

“Sure, sure,” Dean nodded as he chewed. He had no problem helping out other hunters if Garth was giving them the lead.

“I can tell him you’ll head over tomorrow, then?” Garth asked hopefully.

“We’ll finish up some things and join him first thing in the morning,” Sam agreed.

“Great!”

“Anything we need to know about this guy?” Dean asked. “You trust him well enough?”

“Actually…” Garth shifted in his seat, and Dean noticed that their friend wasn’t touching his own burger and fries. Even Sam had taken some bites out of his mushroom and Swiss burger. “Sasha sorta came with a warning label when I first met him.” 

“A warning label?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“From Bobby.”

Suddenly, the food wasn’t as appetizing. Dean and Sam both stared over the table at Garth, waiting for him to elaborate.

Garth didn’t. At first. Then he jumped. “Oh! I don’t mean a warning about him…necessarily. More a warning from Bobby not to ‘touch a single red hair on that idjit’s head’,” he finished in a gruff and rather ridiculous Bobby impersonation. “He said Sasha didn’t work with other hunters much, and that if I was going to help him on a case, I had to be prepared not to freak out if I found out his…secret. Which I did, took it in stride, and we’re totally tight now. But I figured I better pass on the same warning to you or risk pissing off the Big Guy.” He gestured Heavenward, which Dean knew wasn’t referring to any deity. Bobby was the be-all, end-all, and always would be.

Dean pushed his plate away. “Okay, so…what’s the secret?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you.”

“What?” Sam balked.

“It’s a secret. Hence the secretiveness. If Sasha wants to tell you, fine. If you find out on your own, fine. Just…know that it doesn’t really matter and don’t do anything stupid. Sasha’s a good guy, and a good hunter. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Dean would have preferred leaving it at ‘go help this other hunter’ instead of ‘who happens to have a huge secret you can’t know,’ but if Bobby had trusted this guy too, Dean wanted to at least attempt to let the issue go. 

Of course then Dean couldn’t stop thinking about it, wondering what this ‘secret’ might be, and so, even though it was almost 10pm before they were finished up with things at The Bunker, Dean suggested they head to Manhattan that night rather than in the morning. Since Sam wouldn’t be driving anyway, he agreed, and they checked into a local dive a little after midnight. Dean then decided that if he was going to get any sleep, he needed a little something to dull his senses, and told Sam, who was already crawling into bed, that he was heading out for a drink. Sam merely mumbled acceptance.

Dean figured he’d have one drink, clear his head, and then return to the motel, but he also figured the trip could give him a lay of the place, and maybe he’d even strike gold and catch a lead.

He hadn’t really drank much since returning from Purgatory, which he supposed was a good thing, given how his habit had grown into a dangerous addiction by the time they were saying goodbye to Dick. But then after a year in Purgatory, where a stiff drink wasn’t even remotely an option, Dean just didn’t have as much of a craving for it. Okay, so he craved it plenty, and indulged from time to time, like he used to, but it wasn’t the same as the need it had once become, and he hadn’t gotten honestly smashed in…longer than he could remember. There was a part of him that could use a little oblivion tonight.

He started by ordering a local brew on tap and settled onto a stool at the bar.

“Haven’t seen you here before?” the man sitting next to him commented. 

Dean glanced over. He’d noticed the guy when he sat down—you couldn’t miss that kind of Little Mermaid-esque dye job, especially on a guy—and figured him for a punk, especially with that girly face and never-seen-the-sun skin tone. But the guy was dressed, well, a lot like Dean, in jeans, a T-shirt, and a well-loved leather jacket, so he shrugged off any preconceived notions. 

“Just got in a few minutes ago, passing through,” Dean said. “Figured I could use a nightcap. You local?”

The redhead flashed a wide, straight-toothed smile, and Dean noticed the brilliance to his blue eyes and how he just exuded friendly. Not a punk. But probably pretty popular with the ladies. “Nah, I’m just passing through too, but been in town a couple days now. This seems to be the place to be most nights. Winding down already tonight, though.”

“When’s last call?”

“1:30, but it usually gets closer to 2:00 if Jamie’s feeling generous.” He turned to wink at the 40-something female bartender, who was a tough looking cookie Dean wouldn’t have dared hit on. She smiled back at the redhead, then quickly dropped it with a hard expression thrown at Dean, like a warning.

Dean quickly averted his gaze. “Gotcha.”

“Well, if we’re going to be sharing a drink together…” the guy said, extending a hand toward Dean as he turned in his stool. “…I’m Sasha.”

Don’t touch a single red hair on that idjit’s head.

“Well, shit,” Dean said with a laugh, “now I feel like an idiot. I’m Dean. As in Winchester,” he said, and shook the offered hand.

Sasha’s blue eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“We decided to head over tonight instead of in the morning. I was restless, but Sam hit the hay. You on the job now?” he added more quietly.

“Yeah,” Sasha whispered back, reclaiming his hand but leaning closer to Dean, even with so little space between them to begin with. “I took you for the siren. Figured it had finally pegged me, and was going in for the kill.”

“Me?” Dean chuckled. “Why? You have a thing for sexy male hunters?”

Sasha pulled back, his long, pale fingers dancing along the glass of his mug. He grinned. “Occasionally.”

Dean felt heat flush to his face unbidden and quickly laughed off the flirt. This guy was obviously teasing him. “Very funny,” he said. “So…you have any other leads going right now? Coz if not, I’d love to get caught up.”

Sasha nodded. “Jamie, can you bring another round to the table in the back?” he asked the bartender sweetly. “And a couple double shots of Jack.” He smiled at Dean again, stood, and motioned toward a dark booth, far from any listening ears. Dean followed him.

“You sure this siren hasn’t moved on if you’re having so much trouble?” Dean asked once they had settled in with their new drinks.

“Not if the death count has anything to say about it,” Sasha said with a frown. “Had another couple fatalities this morning. That’s why I called Garth.”

“Couple?”

“This siren works in pairs. Likes to get two people enamored with him—or her, as the case may be—then get them to have sex with each other. Then…kill each other. We’re talking extra level of creepy serial killer here.”

Dean shuddered, and downed the shot of Jack to hide his grimace. 

“I followed it here from another town. It always kills two sets before moving on. First pair found dead this morning. That means only another day or two before there’s another.”

“Damn,” Dean grimaced openly this time, “no wonder you asked for help. That’s fast. And you don’t have any leads?”

“Bait was my best bet. Instead I got you.” He smiled again, though still with a touch of disappointment and remorse that the siren had evaded him. “I think I’m ready to call it a night,” Sasha added, and downed his Jack to follow Dean.

This time Dean grinned. “Fresh eyes in the morning?” he suggested, and gestured toward the bar for Jamie to bring another round of shots. In the meantime, he took a gulp of his beer and hummed. It had been too long—especially with good company.

Sasha raised his glass toward Dean’s with a clink. “I like the way you think, Mr. Winchester.”

***

A few beers and another shot or two later, Dean found himself engrossed in a heated—and humored—argument with the redhead.

“Dude, nothing beats Wrath of Khan. You’re out of your mind.”

“I can’t help it, I always thought Star Trek II was only…okay. Undiscovered Country was always my favorite.”

“VI?” Dean scoffed. “Okay, I mean, it was good—Christopher Plummer as a Shakespeare spouting Klingon can’t be bad—but better than Khan?”

“It’s the relationship arcs, I guess. I was always more of a Bones guy than a Spock guy.”

Well, Dean could understand that, because DeForest Kelley was awesome. Karl Urban was pretty awesome too. “Next you’ll be telling me First Contact isn’t the best Next Gen movie,” he shook his head.

Sasha grinned crookedly. “Well I do have a special fondness for Generations. Clash of universes!”

Dean shook his head but smiled widely. He imagined he could have similar arguments with Garth—the guy had to be a bit of a geek—and had numerous times engaged Charlie in geek-related rants, but he couldn’t remember ever having another hunter, and one around his own age, who he could really relax like this with. Even if the guy had some crazy ideas in his head—thinking Wrath of Khan wasn’t the best Star Trek movie—Dean was having a blast.

“I’ll admit,” he relented, “the end of Undiscovered Country, when Kirk does the whole ‘boldly go’ speech and corrects himself at the end from ‘no man’ to ‘no one’, passing the torch to Picard…shit, gets me every time.”

Sasha nodded reverently, then frowned. “Both Star Trek V and VI came out after Next Generation started airing, though, right?”

“Yeah, but we don’t speak about V in civilized company,” Dean said seriously.

Sasha laughed. “Damn right,” he said, and clinked Dean’s glass before calling Jamie over for another round.

***

Several shots later, and after more beers than Dean could remember anymore, it was nearing that magic 2am last call time, and Dean and the redheaded hunter Sasha Kelly had had more engaging conversations than Dean thought he’d had with anyone else in maybe years. Sure, he and Benny had talked a lot in Purgatory, but they weren’t exactly from the same era to bond on the pop culture level. Sasha was something else.

“Okay, I knew about the pedicures, but…Tori and Dean? Really?” Sasha laughed good and hard at the idea of Bobby watching the worst of reality TV.

“Yep,” Dean chuckled back, only slightly slurring his speech, and enjoying the way the colors and shapes of the room were dim and hazy now. Sasha, however, remained crystal clear across from him. “He’d be so pissed I’m spilling his secrets.”

“Nah, he loves you guys,” Sasha dismissed. His bright blue eyes only betrayed a slight glassiness, and his expression was a constant, lazy smile. “Talked about you and Sam all the time. He’d forgive you anything. Used to tell me I should work a case with you sometime, ‘see how it’s really done’,” he said in an only slightly better approximation of Bobby than Garth had managed, “but I…get wary around other hunters. Except Bobby. He’s known me since I was a kid, and was always there when I needed help. I really miss that old man…”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, allowing a moment of solemn silence, before they clinked glasses again, in honor of Bobby, and mutually downed the last of their most recent beers. “So…” Dean started in right away, drunk enough now to forget any sense of tact as he leaned over the tabletop, “…what’s the story? The reason you don’t work with other hunters much. Your…secret,” he finished in a mock whisper.

Sasha’s decidedly pale skin paled further, though he mirrored Dean in leaning forward over the table. “Garth…mentioned that, huh?”

“And a warning from Bobby not to do anything to you if we ever find out what it is. Do I have to guess?”

Sasha’s eyes drifted to the table.

“You don’t have to tell me, but…dude, I don’t take words like that from Bobby lightly, and with Garth backing you too…I’m betting I could handle whatever it is.” And he was insanely curious. This ‘secret’ had been part of the reason Dean went out for a drink in the first place. Now that he was getting to know and like Sasha, his curiosity had reached critical mass.

“Maybe you could…” Sasha said, flicking his eyes up to lock gazes with Dean. They looked impossibly blue in the dark of the bar, and with Dean’s alcohol-riddled perception, accentuated further by the deep red of Sasha’s hair and the pale white of his skin. 

Seriously…if the Little Mermaid was a dude. He even had that pretty, clean-shaven, androgynous face chicks seemed to go so crazy for these days. Pretty, but still masculine. How do some guys do that, Dean wondered.

He shook his head to clear away such odd thoughts as Sasha continued speaking. 

“Tell you what…” Sasha leaned even closer across the table, and his fingertips brushed Dean’s, “…you help me finish this case, and I’ll tell you. As long as you promise you won’t go back on your word to Bobby and Garth.”

Dean nudged Sasha’s fingers in reply as he raised one hand in a mock Boy Scout salute. “Hunter’s honor.”

Sasha smiled. “And who knows…you might end up finding out on your own.” He tapped his fingers on the table, then brushed them against Dean’s again. The slow, subtle skin contact made Dean shiver, and he stared at Sasha across from him. The redhead’s eyes, his expression, his whole…aura was hypnotic, and suddenly, Dean couldn’t look away.

Heat from the alcohol—definitely from the alcohol—surged through Dean’s body. For a brief moment, he wondered if his drink had been spiked with siren venom, and that Sasha or Jamie was the siren, but Dean remembered what that felt like and knew he was completely in control—other than a little tipsy. He didn’t understand why he felt so warm.

“Alright, boys, time to head on home,” Jamie called as she approached the table to clear away their glasses. They were the only ones still in the bar.

Dean absently tugged at his collar from the sudden heat. He looked across at Sasha again, the redhead’s image still strangely focused and bright compared to the rest of the bar, but he quickly looked away when the heat only increased. 

He nodded to Jamie and made to stand—they had already paid the tab, knowing they were on their last drinks, and Dean was ready to head out and maybe finally get some sleep since his brain was clearly playing tricks on him. But as soon as he was on his feet, he caught himself on the table, dizzy and swaying.

“Whoa…guess it’s been a little too long,” he said. “Haven’t quite built my tolerance back up.”

Sasha was standing next to him in a heartbeat, arm around his waist to help him out of the booth. “My fault. We should have stopped another beer or two ago. Guess I got carried away catching up on hunter business and Bobby stories. And Star Trek.” He flashed a charming grin, an expression the guy was in no short supply of.

“And comics,” Dean reminded him.

“Nobody likes Ant Man,” Sasha said—their previous Avengers conversation had probably lasted the longest.

“Nobody,” Dean agreed.

They started for the exit, but didn’t get far before Dean cursed.

“Shit,” he said, leaning heavily against the slightly taller though slimmer man beside him. “Guess I’m walking back to the motel.” He could barely focus now that he was actually moving—shameful.

“You know…I’m staying right next door. You could crash with me and just…let your brother know we’ll meet up with him in the morning.”

Next door instead of several blocks away? Dean immediately liked that idea. “Let me shoot him a text. You are officially on my list of awesome, decent hunters to hang with.”

“Not too decent, I hope,” Sasha grinned as they left the bar. 

Dean chuckled.

They paused just outside so Dean could get his cell phone out and send Sam a message—Crashing with our contact. Long story. Meet you in the morning—which took far longer to spell out without typos than usual, but he got it done. Then Sasha had his arm around Dean’s waist again, both of them leaning into each other rather than just Dean against Sasha—the redhead was fairly tipsy too, after all—but thankfully they were at the guy’s motel room door in no time.

Sasha fumbled a little with the key, and once the door was open and closed behind them, they fell back heavily against it, both laughing ridiculously at their inability to move like normal, sober humans.

Dean thought he would probably pass out the second his head hit the mattress, but there was also a rush of excitement in his chest he couldn’t quite place that made him feel wide awake. He swallowed thickly, slowly realizing that he was the one pressed against the door, and Sasha was more like collapsed into him, practically wrapped around him with his soft red hair brushing the side of Dean’s face. Dean puffed a breath and watched a bit of red hair flutter. He snickered.

“Dude, you better not fall asleep on me,” he said, hands moving to Sasha’s waist because…there wasn’t really anywhere else for them to go. Sasha radiated heat that made Dean feel cozy and content, and smelled like leather and whiskey.

“Oh…you won’t have to worry about that,” Sasha said. His voice was…different. Not just muffled from his face being practically smushed into the crook of Dean’s neck, but gruffer and hot on Dean’s skin. He pulled his head up, but his body remained close. His eyes were practically glowing bright blue.

Dean flicked his gaze to Sasha’s mouth as the other man licked his lips. He felt a surge of that excitement again. Dean was excited—anxious. He shifted in place and felt how much Sasha’s body was in contact with his own. Maybe he was a little too excited. 

Panic seized Dean’s chest as he realized he was reacting to Sasha’s proximity, and pretty face, and just how much he liked the guy. His hands involuntarily squeezed Sasha’s waist. His breathing was shallow, shaky. He licked his lips as Sasha had and didn’t know what to do. Sure, Dean was mostly drunk, and it had been a really long time since he’d…anything, but he was certain that any moment now Sasha would realize what was going on and freak—maybe bolt.

But he didn’t. Sasha’s hands slid up Dean’s chest, slowly, teasingly over his T-shirt; his gaze moved to Dean’s now moistened lips, then up to his eyes where they locked on heatedly; and then, without any preamble or word of warning, he surged forward, his hands gripping Dean’s shirt as his head tilted, lips descended, and Dean felt the other man’s tongue in his mouth at the same moment as Sasha’s thigh purposely nudged Dean’s not-at-all-shy erection like he’d already known it was there.

Dean’s stomach flipped, tightened, and the panic swelled even as he slid his hands around Sasha’s waist and up underneath his shirt to the burning hot skin beneath, pulling the other man tighter against him. What the hell was he doing? He and Sasha were entangled, embracing, and sucking on each other’s tongues. A full, long thirty seconds or maybe even a minute might have passed in which they simply kissed and clung, making out against the door.

Dean tensed as what he was doing caught up to him—gasped away and turned his head.

“Dean…?” Sasha asked, curious and concerned, his voice rougher than before—husky—which went straight to Dean’s groin with a sharp pulse.

What is wrong with me?

“Dean?”

“Look, I just…” but Dean trailed off as soon as he turned his head and met Sasha’s brilliant blue gaze again, the other man’s lips slightly pink now and his cheeks flush with color. Dean still had his hands up the back of Sasha’s shirt. Sasha’s skin was as soft as any girl’s, and he found himself clutching the man in his arms tighter instead of pushing him away. “I just…haven’t done this in a while.”

Sasha’s eyes knit close together, like he was concentrating very hard on reading between the lines, on sensing what Dean wasn’t saying, but eventually he smiled, fond and playful. He leaned in toward Dean’s lips again, and kissed him slowly, tenderly, before licking his way inside Dean’s mouth and twirling his tongue around Dean’s like a promise of what was to come. Then that thought was confirmed as Sasha whispered against Dean’s lips, “Relax, then…and let me do the heavy lifting.”

Heat pooled in Dean’s belly as Sasha’s hand slid down his shirt, twisted around, and reached low to grip the bulge of his jeans, making Dean harden painfully, rock solid and weeping, he was sure of it. 

When was the last time someone had said something like that to him? Touched him? He couldn’t remember. And damn did he want to comply, just nod and see what happened. But he couldn’t actually do this, could he? He’d known girls for much shorter periods of time and liked them a lot less before taking them to bed in the past, but this was a whole new monster.

Sasha pushed back from the door, unable to get too far for a moment since Dean was still holding him close. Then Dean let go, let his hands fall to his sides, and another wave of panic rushed over him. He had no anchor, nothing to grip to keep himself sane, just an offer and a willing partner standing before him, who…was seriously rumpled from their kissing, and so damn pretty—so damn sexy.

Sasha moved confidently to undo Dean’s jeans, pausing only a moment for any sign of protest, but not actually waiting for an okay, which was fine by Dean because he doubted he could form actual words at the moment. He was shaking—trembling. He felt his pulse banging inside the walls of his chest and between his eardrums as Sasha drew his zipper down.

“It really has been a long time…hasn’t it?” Sasha said, moving one of his hands to grip Dean’s quaking wrist and gently still it.

Over a year, Dean thought, maybe two, but he wasn’t about to admit that out loud. “Yeah.”

Sasha’s face moved in close beside Dean’s cheek, and his voice whispered softly into Dean’s ear, “Let me remind you…please. I’ve wanted to touch you since you first sat down in that stool beside me…”

Dean shuddered. “When you thought I was the siren?”

“Might have risked it for you.”

A smile twitched on Dean’s face, and a small portion of the panic in his gut dissipated as he was reminded of why he’d been so drawn to Sasha to begin with. He liked the guy. This was someone who knew the life, who could actually understand things Dean would never be able to tell a girl he met on the road, and who came with a seal of approval from as high up as it came as just a genuinely good guy.

With a secret.

Dean turned in toward Sasha’s face, captured by those blue eyes instantly. This was Sasha’s secret. Of course. Being gay wasn’t exactly something the hunter community would be enlightened about. He probably had to hide it from the other more bigoted hunters—which was pretty much all of them. Dean’s father had never been openly against the whole thing, or against anyone who was gay, but he also bought Dean skin mags at fourteen, not one each of Playboy and Playgirl and asked him to choose. The thought had probably never even entered John’s mind—and certainly never Dean’s. 

It seemed to keep coming up lately though.

Well if this was all Sasha’s secret was, then of course Dean wouldn’t do anything to the guy over it—unless what he was about to do counted. And Sasha probably figured Dean was the same, or maybe at least flexible to the idea since they had hit it off so well, and…okay, thinking back, some of Dean’s comments could have easily been taken the wrong way. Sasha probably had no idea Dean had never done this with another man before.

Although…the way Sasha smiled at him so warmly, heated and wanting, sure, but warm with affection and understanding; and how he leaned forward to kiss Dean softly, his fingers feathering at Dean’s skin as he slipped his hands beneath denim down Dean’s naked thighs, pulling the jeans and boxers down with him…made Dean feel as though he was being treated with virgin care—like the guy did know, and was going to be oh so gentle with him. The thought made Dean’s hips stutter.

He knew he couldn’t blame this on alcohol—he was blindingly sober now.

Sasha dropped to his knees and panic reared up in Dean’s gut again—or maybe it was excitement. His heartbeat thundered. His hands shook. Tell him to stop! Tell him you can’t do this! His mind screamed at him, but he ignored the argument. Because there was no argument. There was no reason not to just let this happen—none that held any weight.

Dean watched, mesmerized, as Sasha’s lips descended on him, his shorts and jeans remaining around his thighs, locking them together and holding him in place for Sasha to just take him. And when he did, when those pink, moistened lips wrapped around Dean’s head and sucked him in, Dean’s right hand clenched into a fist and slammed back against the door. His knees trembled like the rest of him and he pressed his back into the support behind him, barely keeping upright. Sasha’s lips and tongue were hot—blazing—and they knew just how to tease the sensitive nerves and layers of skin. 

Sasha kept one hand around the base of Dean’s cock as he worked him with his mouth, and slid the other up and underneath Dean’s shirt to the slight pudge of his belly. Dean could admit he had some pudge—he liked food, thank you very much, and didn’t see anything wrong with that—and it was a reasonable amount considering he generally got a good workout with his profession. He could just never imagine being as obsessed with his body as Sam. Sasha seemed pretty obsessed with his body about now, though, Dean mused, as the redhead sucked him in deep and clawed eagerly at his stomach.

Dean pounded back on the door again, his other hand seeking something to grip, and finally reaching forward to lightly grab at Sasha’s hair. His hips moved subtly forward and back in a gentle rocking motion in time to Sasha’s rhythmic bobbing. It had been a really long time since someone had done this for him. If he hadn’t drank so much, he might have shot off pretty damn quickly too, but he was just the right amount of drunk that he knew he’d last a while, and the heat and pleasure coursing up from the base of his spine—through every part of him, really—was making all the remaining alert senses he had…dull and buzzing.

The only way Dean was going to get from point A—blowjob—to point B—anything involving reciprocation—was if he took charge and didn’t look back. That was how he generally approached life; why should this experience be any different? Right?

So Dean steeled the last of his shaken nerves, dropped his head back against the door to enjoy a few more moments of Sasha’s hot mouth and expert tongue on his skin, and finally looked down again. Sasha’s blue eyes blinked up at him, batting playfully. Dean gripped the redhead’s shoulders and hauled him up, pulling him all the way in for a kiss when Sasha stood, and relishing in the taste of his own salty skin on Sasha’s tongue.

Sasha tugged on Dean’s shirt. “Too many clothes?” he breathed out shakily.

“Hell, yes.”

They separated with an eruption of movement. Kicking off his boots and his tangled shorts and jeans, letting his jacket fall from his shoulders, and tearing his shirt off over his head—it all happened in a blur, Dean stealing glances at Sasha as the redhead stripped in kind. Sasha was an inch or two taller than Dean, but had that trim swimmer’s build, all pale, perfect skin, and seemingly not a hair on his body other than his head…until Dean’s eyes fell to the tuft of equally red hair between the man’s legs.

How is that a natural color? Dean wondered, but they had already collided again and toppled onto the bed—one bed, Dean noted, which he should have guessed when the guy first offered to share his room. 

Dean was slick from Sasha’s mouth, and as soon as they clamored up the mattress, with Dean latched onto the redhead’s neck and Sasha’s hands gripping Dean’s ass, Dean felt Sasha’s wet cock clash with his. The feeling was intense—intoxicating. All Dean’s remaining anxiety faded as he fumbled to touch Sasha, giving over to the sensations flooding his senses—all good sensations. So good.

He gripped Sasha tight, the feeling of a cock in his hand familiar, if only from his own, and pumped madly through the smooth precum, simultaneously jerking his hips forward to slip and slide against Sasha’s slippery, hot skin.

Sasha reached down as well, breathing hotly on Dean’s neck, as Dean licked Sasha’s collarbone where he’d been sucking. Then the redhead surprised him, stilled Dean’s hand, and nudged it aside. He took both of them in hand together, and the feel of them pressed tight against each other in Sasha’s grip was too much—like nothing Dean had ever felt before. He wanted more. He wanted to roll over, press Sasha into the mattress, and fuck him. But he didn’t want to stop their current friction.

After what felt like minutes on end of fervent grinding, Sasha seemed to think along the same lines as Dean, at least as far as wanting more, and released his grip only to roll away and position Dean onto his stomach.

Alarm bells went off in Dean’s head, spiking his panic to a fevered pitch. He was not ready for this, but he didn’t know how to respond or what to say without risking the whole thing unraveling. He held his breath as Sasha lifted his hips up from the mattress so that Dean was positioned perfectly for what he’d just thought he wanted to do to Sasha—and yes, he realized that panicking about the role reversal was unfair, but he couldn’t help it. He was Dean Fucking Winchester!

But whatever Dean had been expecting next was replaced by yet another intense and gut-quivering surprise. Sasha’s tongue swiped between Dean’s cheeks and gently…pushed in. Dean turned his face into the mattress and moaned. His body became warm jelly, relaxed and overheated—overwhelmed. Sasha reached around Dean’s waist to take him in hand again, as his tongue continued to dart—in and out—and fuck.

Dean was done in a matter of three swift strokes.

He collapsed forward as Sasha moved away, and it was only after Dean was able to push himself onto his side that he realized Sasha was lying next to him again, tending to himself with rapid, eager pumps of his fist, while staring hungrily at Dean’s body.

Dean was not a selfish lover, and timid as he had been about this, he’d gone all in, been ready and willing for anything, and he was not about to back away from that now—especially not after coming so hard he’d seen spots. 

Uncaring to the wet spot beneath him, Dean squeezed his trapped, left arm out from under him to grip Sasha’s neck, and tugged the redhead forward for a bruising kiss. His right hand slid down Sasha’s taut stomach, into those impossibly red curls, and nudged Sasha’s hand aside as Sasha had nudged him. Dean gripped Sasha firmly, using every angle, amount of pressure, and slide of his fingers that he knew he liked, and hoped Sasha liked too. 

Sasha gasped out of their kiss and buried his head in Dean’s neck.

“Yeah…come for me, baby…”

“Unnng…!”

Dean felt his softening cock jump again at his words and at Sasha’s unintelligible response.

Then Sasha was biting into Dean’s shoulder and spurting over Dean’s hand, hot and silky as he came. Dean slowed his pumps to a light, tender hold, letting their bodies fall into each other and connect again, sticky with sweat and cum.

Fatigue washed over Dean in the most all-encompassing way, and he felt his body melt into the mattress, hapless against the need for sleep. He wasn’t the type to fall asleep after sex—sex usually gave him a burst of energy—but tonight he wavered and succumbed, wanting nothing more than to give into the darkness.

“So…awesome…” he murmured into Sasha’s chest, and even swiped his tongue out to lap at the salty sweat on the redhead’s skin.

He heard Sasha chuckle blissfully, then tuned into the rhythm of his companion’s gradually slowing breaths until the rest of the world faded away.

 

TBC…


	2. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean awakens after his night with Sasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I miss writing Dean with Sasha sometimes, but I still love working on the original version of the story as well.
> 
> My book Incubus releases this next Monday, July 1, 2013. If you like urban paranormal fantasy/gay romance, check it out at BigWorldNetwork.com's store. You can preorder the paperback, eBook, or audiobook now for 10% off.

Dean awoke with a pounding headache. Whether it was because he’d gotten drunker than he’d been in a long time last night, because he had mixed beer and Jack, or because he was bodily exhausted, he wasn’t sure, but it was probably a fun combination of all of the above. And boy was he tired, as if he’d been completely drained of energy, though he didn’t feel otherwise ill. It had been a long time since his last physical romp with a partner, so he supposed that could account for the exhaustion.

Memories of the night before flashed through Dean’s mind as he roused fully, unable to block out the dull thrum of nearby buzzing. He’d gotten drunk. He’d had sex. He was…still in the guy’s motel room.

Pushing over onto his back, Dean blinked up at the ceiling. There was only minimal light filtering into the room, so his eyes adjusted quickly. Sasha was not lying beside him. Nor was he anywhere else in the room, not even the bathroom since the light was off and the door open. And something was buzzing. 

Dean took stock of his body for a moment. He was still naked, the thin sheets covering him, though the comforter had been tossed to the floor, probably because they’d gotten it fairly dirty during their escapades. He didn’t feel as though the sheets were sticking to him in any awkward places, though, despite not remembering cleaning up. Had Sasha wiped him clean and then tucked him in? Somehow that was far more mortifying than having had sex with the guy, especially if Sasha had just left afterward. 

But wait…Sasha’s bag was in the corner, Dean noted as he sat up. Sitting up also made him even more aware of the incessant buzzing, that he now realized had been what woke him up, and was originating from his discarded jeans.

Reaching over the bed—Dean didn’t feel like getting up all the way just yet—he snatched his jeans, dug out his phone, and answered with a groggy, “What?”

“What? That’s it? Dean, it’s almost 11:00. Are you okay?”

Sam.

“I’m fine,” Dean answered instinctively. And he was, for the most part. He ran a hand back through his sleep-tousled hair. “Just…maybe had a few too many last night and slept in.”

“I take it that means you and Sasha hit it off?”

Dean wondered for maybe two seconds if Sam was standing outside the door and knew, or if he was just plain psychic, but then realized his brother wasn’t trying to be a smart-ass. “Yeah…real well. Too well,” Dean said as he scrubbed his hand all the way down his face. He needed aspirin. “Just let me wake up, and…I’ll…” He trailed as he heard someone at the door. 

Then it opened, slow and carefully as Sasha snuck in. He smiled when he saw that Dean was awake. He was dressed and fully refreshed looking for the day. And he had coffee. Two cups.

“Dean? You still there?”

“Uhh…yeah. Yeah, sorry. How about…you give us like half an hour here and then Sasha and I will meet you for lunch.”

“Pat’s,” Sasha called out, loudly so Sam could hear over the phone. “Barbeque. Great ribs.”

Dean was instantly reminded of all the reasons he liked this guy. He couldn’t help smiling back at Sasha, especially since the redhead pulled up a chair, grabbed up a bottle of aspirin like he just knew Dean needed it, and waited patiently with both pills and coffee to hand over to Dean once he was done. 

“You get that, Sammy? We’ll meet you in thirty.”

Sam gave a swift goodbye, not sounding upset anymore, at least, and maybe even pleased that Dean had ‘made a friend’ rather than caused any problems with their would-be partner. Whether or not there would be any problems on the horizon, Dean wasn’t sure yet.

He tossed his phone onto his jeans on the floor. Sasha handed him one of the cups of coffee and the aspirin, then snatched his own coffee from the small table near his chair. He sat facing Dean, not intimidatingly or expecting or anything, just…polite.

Dean gratefully downed the aspirin and tossed the bottle back to Sasha. The coffee was…perfect. Black, with just a little bit of sugar. “How’d you know?” he asked as he gulped it down, maybe too quickly, since it burned his tongue.

“I don’t know, I guess you just didn’t seem like the cream type.”

Dean promptly choked on his coffee. 

Sasha looked concerned before what he’d just said actually registered. They both laughed at the unintentional pun. Somehow, the awkwardness Dean was feeling ebbed away, even though he was sitting naked in bed while the guy he’d slept with last night sat fully clothed across from him.

They both sipped on their coffee for a few moments in silence, but Dean wasn’t one for quiet reflection. He started scanning his brain for things to do or say, most of which went to him obviously needing a shower, but he wasn’t sure how to move on from this companionable moment without ruining it.

Then Sasha spoke first, gripping his coffee with both hands as he leaned forward in his chair. “I…figured the coffee was a must. We overdid it a little last night.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Thanks.”

While Dean was still feeling somewhat in limbo, if not fully comfortable, Sasha’s expression turned troubled. “Look, I…I feel sort of guilty. Like…I should apologize.”

Dean frowned. “For what?”

“Well…I usually have this rule about not taking people back to my room if they, or I, or both have been drinking. Don’t read me wrong,” he sat up straight again, quick to smile and turn his head almost bashfully to the side, “I don’t regret last night in the least. But…I’d understand if maybe you did. It didn’t really hit me until this morning that you’d probably never done that before.”

Dean set his coffee on the nightstand. “I’ve had plenty of midnight romps with someone I just met, trust me, but…I know that’s not what you mean. But dude, did anything about me last night scream the easily manipulated type? I considered putting a hold on things more than once, sure, but I didn’t. If I’d have wanted you to stop, I’d have said so. I have no regrets either. No room in my life for those.” And Dean wasn’t just playing the strong, unmovable guy, either; it was the truth. He had a little of that anxious, excited feeling in his gut again, but it wasn’t unpleasant. And the guy had brought him coffee in bed, for Christ’s sake.

Sasha looked Dean square in the eyes, his expression blank for a moment, as if—just like last night—he was searching out some hidden meaning in Dean’s words, in his emotions. Then he smiled. He set his coffee on the table again, stood, and started a slow, easing crawl onto the bed. Dean scooted back at first, one hand tightly clutching the sheets, but as Sasha neared him, he reminded himself that they’d already been far more intimately involved. It was just…different, watching another man crawl seductively toward him—and liking it.

Dean spread his legs beneath the sheets to let Sasha in closer, who then crawled all the way up to him and kissed Dean so hard that he pressed back into the headboard. A million thoughts blared through Dean’s mind that he should stop this. It was a onetime thing, not a new trend for him. And yet, he couldn’t really bring himself to believe that. Kissing Sasha was just plain addictive.

Sasha slid one of the hands bracing him up on the mattress to Dean’s chest, just holding it there, then began to slide it slowly south. When he reached Dean’s hips and the edge of the sheets, an electric shock pulsed through Dean’s groin and renewed his otherwise dwindled morning erection. 

What is it with this guy, he wondered, but he wasn’t complaining. Sasha licked around the rim of his lips, and Dean fought the urge to grab him and flip him over onto the mattress.

Sasha gasped away. His blue eyes were hazy as he said, “I shouldn’t. Sam will be waiting. I should let you shower, get ready.” He almost looked guilty for having indulged himself, which Dean just didn’t understand when this guy was otherwise so forward and dripping sex appeal.

But as Sasha wasn’t wrong about their limited time and the demands of the job, Dean nodded. Just to prove he wasn’t opposed to continuing though, crazy as that still seemed to him, Dean kissed Sasha once more for good measure, bruisingly deep—promising. Sasha shuddered atop him, then finally pulled away and hopped off the bed. 

As Dean followed, telling himself that it wasn’t weird to walk naked to the bathroom when Sasha had already seen the goods, Sasha offered him an extra shirt and use of his bathroom supplies since Dean didn’t have anything of his own. The guy even had an extra toothbrush—just in case, Sasha said with a smile. The whole ordeal felt strangely easy and domestic, even as Dean finished his naked trek, clothes in hand, and started to take a shower. He was still a little revved up and had no problem attending to himself despite knowing that Sasha was just on the other side of the door. He felt even more exhausted afterwards, but at least refreshed. He needed to finish his coffee.

It wasn’t until Dean was fully dressed and ready to leave the bathroom that he realized what shirt Sasha had given him to wear. It was a dusty darker blue with Captain America’s shield proudly in the center. Being broader of chest than Sasha, it pulled a little across Dean’s pecks, but didn’t look half bad.

“I don’t think I’m giving this back to you,” Dean said as he left the bathroom.

Sasha took in Dean’s appearance appreciatively before replying, “Hey, that’s one of my favorites.”

“Shouldn’t have handed it over then.”

“Well…I guess I did take something from you first, so it’s only fair.”

Dean pondered that for a moment, unable to think of anything Sasha had taken from him, until he thought…my gay virginity? “Smart ass.”

Sasha chuckled, and whatever tension may have remained was gone.

Dean snatched up his coffee, made sure he had all of his belongings, and they headed out. Sasha had some god-awful rental, so Dean insisted they take the Impala, something Sasha was more than okay with since he damn near tripped over his feet when Dean pointed out the car.

“That’s yours? Dude, that is sex on wheels.”

“And don’t she know it,” Dean preened. “Now,” he said, getting into the driver’s side as Sasha simultaneously joined him on the other, their doors slamming closed with a unified resonance, “I believe you were spouting some bullshit last night about Civil War and how Cap should have stayed dead?”

Sasha glanced aside at Dean with a crooked grin. “Hey, I was just saying, death doesn’t mean anything if characters keep coming back. Where’s the impact? The cost?”

“I don’t know,” Dean smirked, “I used to agree with you, but as it turns out…these days I think some dead things deserve the chance to come back.”

*****

Sam and Sasha’s meeting was fairly uneventful to Dean’s relief, and yet the second he saw his brother, all of his previous confidence and feeling of comfort washed away. It wasn’t as if he thought Sasha was going to come right out and say, “I slept with your brother last night,” as he shook Sam’s hand, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow Sam had to know—even if he more than likely didn’t, nor should it matter.

They ate their barbeque lunch—heavenly brisket too, if Dean had ever had any—and thankfully delved right into shop talk. Sasha recapped for Sam what he had already told Dean. As it turned out, Sam had gotten an early start and had a few leads to add to their list. It seemed the victims all had something in common that Sasha hadn’t picked up on.

“All of them? You’re sure?” Sasha asked.

Sam nodded as he pushed the remains of his plate Dean’s direction, offering up some leftover potato salad. “Every person this siren has gone after had some sort of repressed sexual desire. The most recent couple, Tracey Mitchell and Jade Kiril, both had something pop up when I talked to the next of kin this morning. Tracey had a boyfriend, but apparently she was…on the fence with her sexuality. And Jade, while openly a lesbian, well…Tracey was a little on the voluptuous side. Jade’s always dated more waif-like women. But her roommate told me she found some pretty telling porn sites of heavier set women on her computer.”

Dean frowned after devouring a bite of the offered potato salad. “Why would anyone repress something like that?”

“Image, reputation, expectations,” Sasha listed off with a sympathetic shrug. “You could just as easily ask why Tracey felt the need to hide her feelings for other women. Some people can’t easily face certain aspects of themselves unless it’s forced in front of their faces. I’d say this siren was doing them a favor…if it didn’t have them kill each other afterward.”

Dean snorted and quickly averted his eyes. The subject was a little too close to home for him right now, and while he meant everything he had said to Sasha that morning, and had enjoyed the brief make-out session and promise of more another time, he wasn’t quite comfortable admitting all of that in front of Sam.

The obvious hypocrisy wasn’t lost on Dean, he just chose to ignore it for now.

“The other desires had a pretty odd range,” Sam added. “Like one couple where the man was found in drag and the woman had some serious bondage gear, but…all in all there was always something to each victim.”

“Yeah, but that’s not an easy thing to weasel out of people,” Dean said. “Their most secret, hidden desires? Ones they aren’t willing to share with others or indulge in openly? Where do we even start tracking down the next set of victims?”

Sam gave a flustered grin and set a business card down on the countertop. 

“ABC Adult Boutique?” Dean read off.

“Local sex shop,” Sam stated the obvious—obvious other than the title because there were three X’s on the card and the silhouette of a naked woman. “I thought we’d chat with the owner while Sasha follows up on the leads we have of new people in town. Figured you’d be all over the idea, Dean.” 

Normally, Dean would have been, but it seemed this hunt was going to be about sex every which way from Sunday, and given Dean had started things off with sex—quite literally—it was all a bit too much coincidence to take lightly. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, and raised his water glass in an eager toast, despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. 

As if the guy had plucked the thoughts directly from Dean’s mind, Sasha nudged his shin beneath the table. When Dean looked across at him, the redhead had the nerve to offer the sweetest, most hopeful and at the same time supportive smile imaginable. 

Dean shivered. This guy could read him way too well.

“Let’s pay up here and head out, then,” Sam said, then looked to Sasha. “Call us if you find anything, and we’ll do the same. Otherwise, let’s meet in front of this place again in two hours.”

Sasha nodded. “I really appreciate the help. You have no idea how much I’ve needed you.” His words were wholly sincere, and yet Dean wondered at the potential double meaning.

Comfortable or not with what had happened between him and Sasha last night, he had the feeling that this was going to be a long hunt.

*****

“Okay, what’s up with you?” Sam asked practically the second they were alone together on their way to the sex shop.

“What’s up with…what?” Dean answered lamely.

“With you,” Sam said again. Seeing as how the town wasn’t that large, they had left the Impala in front of the barbeque joint and were walking the few blocks to the boutique. “You seemed fidgety during lunch. I thought you and Sasha had a good time last night.”

“We did,” Dean said stiffly. “I don’t have any problem with him.”

“Then is it the hunt? I know that the last time we dealt with a siren things got…complicated.”

Dean didn’t even want to think about that. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “You’re reading into nothing, dude. I just have a bit of a hangover, okay? It has been a while since I drank that much, you know.”

Sam nodded, like he hadn’t really considered that, and although he still looked skeptical, he let the matter drop.

They reached the shop, which wasn’t nearly as sleazy on the inside as the exterior implied, and mulled around a bit before heading toward the counter. There was the usual selection of toys and paraphernalia at first glance. Vibrators, blow-up dolls, sexy lingerie. Dean noticed that the back seemed to extend to an entirely separate section for videos. It was when they reached the empty counter and dinged the bell for assistance that Dean’s gaze focused on a particular item.

He’d been in sex shops before. He wasn’t easily made uncomfortable and had tried his fair share of kinks. He was the farthest thing possible from being prudish—honestly. The red leather strap-on with a silvery, glitter-speckled dildo attached hanging proudly behind the counter, however, made him promptly forget any and all previous experience and dive right back to a place where he was a frightened teenager completely unsure of everything.

He swallowed thickly and turned to Sam with panic in his eyes.

“What?” Sam asked in a worried whisper.

“I slept with Sasha last night.” Dean had no idea why those words spilled out of him—it was just a freaking strap-on! He and Sasha hadn’t even gone there. Not that a strap-on would have been included, but—

“What?” Sam asked again, his eyes bugged out now far more widely than Dean’s, but at that same moment, the clerk appeared from the back.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” a friendly, 20-something punk asked them, complete with lip-ring and bleached blonde hair. He smiled at the brothers like a clerk in a normal gift shop would, without an ounce of judgment or intruding. Which may have been how Dean was able to pull his mask back in place so quickly and spin around with a smile of his own.

“Hey…yeah, we actually aren’t here for recreation.” Dean dug out his most updated FBI badge—they were in their usual civvie outfits, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be feds—and flipped it open and closed quickly. “Trying to keep a low profile, ya see. I’m Agent Blacha, this is Agent Small. We’ve been following a trail of some fairly grisly murders, which we think may be connected to the recent double homicide in town.”

“You mean Tracey and Jade?” The guy’s face fell. “Yeah, I…heard about that. I knew both of them. Jade was a regular. Tracey’s been in before, though not often. Always a little shy about it. I’m not under investigation, am I?” he asked with sudden concern.

“No, sir. At least not yet. We’re just trying to get some answers. We’re afraid there might be some…cult connection, and that the killer might be going after a particular set of people. We’re going to need some detailed information about your clientele.” Dean was surprised that Sam was letting him do all the talking—Sam usually interjected at some point—but when he looked back at his brother, he saw that Sam still looked spooked and tongue-tied.

Dean raised his eyebrows at ‘Agent Small’ to get with the program, even though he knew he was an idiot for having confessed like that in the first place and was not looking forward to the inevitable conversation to follow.

“Uhhh…yeah,” Sam jumped in, turning to the clerk. “We need you to answer a few questions about any of your regular customers who might have…more unique tastes.”

They fell into a normal rhythm after that and were able to find out from Brent the clerk that several locals had some fetishes they didn’t share openly. The guy was far more forthcoming with personal info than most shop-owners, which was a plus, and they soon had several addresses of people they could keep an eye on as potential victims.

The sky had clouded over during the time they were in the shop, threatening rain, and making the sky almost as black as night when they exited back onto the street. Dean didn’t take it as a bad omen, just a cruel joke given the impending doom he was already feeling.

“Umm…are you going to elaborate at all about what you said in there?” Sam finally asked as they were heading toward the first lead’s place of business—the pharmacy.

“Nope,” Dean said simply, and kept his gaze forward.

“So…you were pulling my leg?”

Dean faltered a little in his step. “No.”

“You slept with Sasha?”

“…yeah.”

“You didn’t seem freaked out when I first saw you at the restaurant.”

“Guess it needed some time to sink in.” No, that wasn’t right. “I mean…” Dean stopped, though he wasn’t quite able to glance up at his brother just yet. “I was drunk but totally in my right mind. We had a good talk about it this morning. Things were squared away. We even…had a moment…or something, before we met up with you. I don’t know why I’m freaking out now.”

Sam gently grabbing his arm startled Dean, and he looked over to see those damn sympathetic puppy eyes staring back at him. “You’re over-thinking. Never figured that would be a problem for you,” Sam snarked. And smiled.

Dean shook his brother’s hand away and scowled. “Ha. Ha.”

Sam chuckled lightly but then his expression turned serious. “I…might be freaking out a little about this too…but—”

A sudden crash sounded from a few stores away—down the alley by the pharmacy. No one was on the street immediately around them.

Dean looked to Sam. “Thunder?”

“I don’t think so.”

They both turned forward and sprinted toward where the crash had come from. An actual rumble of thunder echoed through the sky above them, signaling that the rain was close at hand. Everything had grown so dark, that when they reached the alley, they could barely see all the way down it. What they could see was what appeared to be two figures fighting.

“Hey!” Dean called out, unsure whether this fight had anything to do with their hunt, but more than willing to find out.

As he and Sam approached, one of the shadowed figures turned toward him and rushed with uncanny speed into the light. It appeared to be a young woman, but as she approached, Dean saw a ripple of truth as her face shimmered into the hollow eyes and gaping maw of a siren. 

There was no way they could be this lucky.

Dean reached back to pull the gun tucked into his jeans, but he wasn’t fast enough. The siren leapt at him, stronger than its young woman guise would imply. Dean landed hard on the pavement with the siren atop him. Sam tried to come to his aid, but Dean watched as the siren merely tossed the larger Winchester aside without losing her grip on him in the slightest. They didn’t even have a real weapon to use against her, without first having some of her venom on hand, and struggle as he may, Dean was not strong enough to fend her off hand-to-hand. 

He was just about ready to try a hard roll to the side when something—the other shadowed figure, Dean realized—rammed into the siren and sent them both flying over Dean.

Immediately, Dean scrambled to his feet, glancing first to Sam, who was getting back up to his feet as well and only looked a little scraped up, and then to the tussle near the mouth of the alley. Of all the remarkable and frightening creatures Dean had seen in his time, he had never seen anything quite like the thing attacking the siren.

It was the size of a man—man shaped, too—but stood taller than Sam due to its large clawed feet like a raptor. It had curled horns at the side of its head and large clawed hands to match its feet, but the wings were the most impressive; like some great gargoyle, they spread out behind the creature, black and leathery like a bat. Dean was surprised he didn’t also see a tail.

“What the…?” Dean gasped out. Slowly, he reached down to retrieve the gun he had dropped.

The siren had apparently had enough, however, and took off running out of the alley once she’d gotten enough leeway from the other figure. Dean feared the winged creature was about to follow her, but despite the darkness from the coming storm, it shied from exiting the cover of the alley and backed away, letting the siren escape.

The sky broke open with a sudden powerful downpour as Dean raised his gun and the creature turned back toward him and Sam.

Facing them, Dean could see that the horns, wings, hands, and feet were all pitch black, but that they faded into a pure, white skin everywhere else. It had slit red eyes that glowed in the darkness and through the rain. There were definite fangs in its mouth that glinted with the meager light. But what made Dean falter, what made his hands tremble as he held up his gun, was the red hair, longer though it may be, and the familiar face.

“Dean…” the creature called in a grumbling but also familiar voice.

Sam had moved closer to Dean and stood beside him, staring. 

Dean felt his arms lower as the creature came toward them, and a shock of bright lightning lit up the alleyway, making it unmistakable who the creature really was.

“Sasha?”

TBC...


	3. Just One More Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have a talk with Sasha and try to work past the discovery of what he is to track down the siren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this next part took SO long, but after the Incubus release, several trips, events, and Chicago Comic Con, I have been swamped. However, I should get the 4th and final part of this done soon, while also working to update my Teen Wolf fic and the next season of Incubus at BWN.
> 
> If you haven't checked out Incubus on BWN or Amazon yet, you can get the eBook for FREE August 19 and 26 from Amazon, so be sure and download it. Just search my real name, Amanda Meuwissen, and it will come up. Not many Meuwissens out there. And even though it's free, I still get royalties from all of the downloads, so feel free to do it just because and you'll help with my overall rating. I'd also love any readers who have enjoyed the new version of the story to be sure and rate and review it on Amazon and Goodreads. Every little bit helps.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean, Sam, and a once again human looking Sasha had returned to Sasha's motel room, and were sitting at the small table in the room with the brothers across from Sasha trying not to stare.

The moment lightning had struck the sky, lighting up the alleyway to reveal that the winged, horned, and clawed creature that saved Dean from the siren was in fact Sasha, the redhead had stepped toward them with his hands raised in placation. Claws had slowly turned into actual hands, the other monstrous features fading as Sasha returned to looking normal, even with his clothing reforming though he had seemingly been wearing nothing but skin as his other self.

Now, Sam sat trying not to look as shell-shocked and fidgety as Dean knew his brother to be, while Dean…was actually far calmer than should be normal. He'd slept with the guy, after all, never knowing the truth. But maybe that was why Dean wasn't freaking out. He'd slept with Sasha and had come out of the encounter not only unscathed but pretty damn satisfied.

"So there I was figuring this 'secret' Garth was keeping for you was that you're into other guys…and you're actually an incubus," Dean stated more than asked.

Sasha glanced almost bashfully to the side. "I thought you knew. Thought…somehow you'd figured it out. I'm so sorry, Dean. I never would have gone so far if I thought you were in the dark. And I wouldn't say I'm only into other guys," he added with a small smirk. "More like…fluid."

Sam coughed to hide a chuckle, though he was still fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "Well…Garth is busy on his case, but he texted me back. He vouches for you, and reiterated Bobby's warning. I guess I just…never figured that's what the secret would be. Not that we haven't had our fair share of supernatural creatures on our side, it's just…"

"Usually they aren't the good guys," Sasha finished.

Dean frowned at how willingly Sasha lumped himself in with other supernatural creatures—with the bad guys. Dean's best friends had been an angel and a vampire. He wasn't one to judge. Not anymore. "Should have realized something was up, but if Bobby and Garth's words weren't enough, seeing you in action is all I need to know whose side you're on."

Sam coughed again.

"Seeing you in action against the siren," Dean emphasized with a kick to Sam's shin.

Sasha chuckled, though still a little warily. "I guess that means you two…had a talk about me, huh?"

Talking about his sex life in front of his brother was far more traumatizing than discovering Sasha's true identity. Dean glared at Sam again for good measure to subtly suggest he keep his fat mouth shut. "Yeah, it sorta…came up. But I'm not sitting over here thinking you were lying about anything or just…using me to feed, or…whatever. You've had no reason not to be honest with us, and I think you have been. No regrets, right?" He forced a smile. Maybe not forced—he wanted to smile—he just hated the tension hanging in the air.

Sasha visibly relaxed across from them. "Thanks. I didn't mean to make things more complicated, so…why don't we just focus on the case."

That idea Dean could definitely get behind. "You must have gotten the same lead we did. She'd been pretending to be the new girl at the pharmacy, right? Do you think she'll bolt now that she ran into us? You guys were fighting pretty aggressively."

"I was hoping to get at some of her venom and finish her off right there, but no go," Sasha said. "She's as strong as I am, and actually seemed to have fun fighting me. I don't think she'll be leaving. She's interested now."

Dean tried to think back to when the siren had leapt at him. The shimmer of her true face had made it difficult to read her expression, but he remembered that when she did look human, she'd been grinning. "That's…creepy." He shifted in his seat. "So she'll try and bait us now? The type that likes to show off?"

Sasha slid from his chair and moved for his bag in the corner. He removed a wide laptop and returned to the table to set it up. His screen came to life and he quickly loaded a page that contained video footage. None of the still shots looked very friendly.

"How I got onto this case, and the part I was hoping to avoid showing you, was this website," Sasha explained. "This siren doesn't just sit back and watch its victims tear each other apart, it films the act and posts the footage online. All anyone who goes here sees is two people having sex and then…killing each other—there's nothing to suggest the supernatural. But I knew as soon as I found the site."

He took a deep breath then pressed play on the most recent video. It was clear from the first few seconds that the footage was of Tracey and Jade, the first two victims from the town they were now in. At first it seemed like any homemade porno. Gritty, just a single angled shot, but real. The noises they made, the momentum, the truth in their passion—it was genuine, not fluff for the camera. It was hot, too, no doubt about that.

Then Jade pulled a knife from under one of the pillows.

Dean had seen many gruesome, awful things in his life, but something struck him about this, because it wasn't as if Jade wanted to hurt Tracey, or that Tracey—who soon had a knife of her own to slice back—wanted to hurt Jade. Every bit of this, even them being together, was being forced for someone else's entertainment.

The part that made Dean's fists clench though was the hit counter. Sick fucks.

"I thought we'd catch her without having to show you this." Sasha clicked the stop button. "But there's no avoiding it now. This siren likes knowing it has an audience. Now it has us. It won't run, not until it can put on a show for us too."

"So…should we check for any video equipment rentals?" Sam asked, all business. Dean could tell his brother was holding back his disgust at this case, and he still looked a little pale from the footage.

"No, the camera is just a simple handheld, maybe with a collapsible stand. She keeps it with her. Or him. Sirens aren't really gender specific..." Sasha frowned.

"Well, so we can avoid the he, she, it, shit problem, let's just go with 'she', since that's what we fought," Dean offered. "And she…needs to die. Now. So let's go over our options."

Given that their options were to continue investigating the newcomers in town, since the siren could very easily take over the persona of one of them, or someone else new they wouldn't see coming, they split up to talk with the remaining leads. Since she liked pairs, they decided to avoid being in twos whenever they could, and just had to hope they'd catch site of someone's true face in a mirror before she could act and claim new victims.

The problem was that none of the remaining leads gave any indication of being the siren. Wherever she was hiding, she was being much smarter about it this time around.

"I don't suppose you can sense her, or something?" Dean asked, once they'd all met back up and decided on grabbing another meal. They were at the bar where Dean and Sasha had met the previous night. "You know, since you have the whole sex thing in common." Dean smirked, rather proud of himself for being able to take most of the situation lightly—having found out he had sex with an incubus. Definitely better than how sleeping with an Amazon had turned out. And Dean had always been such a huge Wonder Woman fan, too.

"Sorry," Sasha smirked back, "it doesn't work that way. If she was a succubus, we'd be set, but I can't sense a siren."

"Damn. That would have been so useful too." Dean took a bite of the steak he'd ordered, which wasn't half bad, and considered their remaining options.

"I don't suppose she said anything to you before your brawl in the alleyway?" Sam asked.

Sasha shook his head. "Nothing useful. Though I did notice she had a thing for speaking in the third person. Called herself Maeven. 'Maeven can handle a silly incubus. Maeven's having fun'," he said in a sing-song voice, then grimaced. "Don't people know it is always lame to talk that way?"

Dean and Sam both chuckled.

"Seriously," Dean said, "like Hal Jordan in the New 52 for Justice League. I figured it to be a fluke the first time, then he goes and says—"

"'Green Lantern's got this!'" Sasha mimicked, beating Dean to the punch. "Oh my god, that was so ridiculous! What were they thinking?" He laughed.

Dean joined him.

Sam stared at them both in amusement. "Maybe you should take Sasha along on your next escapade with Charlie. Seems you have a lot in common," he smirked.

"Charlie?" Sasha questioned.

"She," Dean emphasized, "is our friendly neighborhood LARPing partner. Had a shot at a fae on one of our hunts a while back, but it didn't pan out. Bet she'd love you forever if you have any nice succubus friends you could introduce her to." Dean grinned at the thought. He wasn't one to spy on his friends, but catching Charlie mid liplock with that fae had been pretty hot. "And hey," he turned on Sam, "you love that stuff as much as I do. Admit it."

Sam squirmed in his chair. "I wouldn't say as much as you do," Sam defended, like there was something to defend.

Sasha laughed again. "I do know a pair of twins if she might be interested," he said. "In fact, I bet they'd be all over a good LARP. Medieval?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You better believe it. And I'll hold you to this, if you're really interested. Even hunters need a hobby. Or so I've started to think lately."

Sam snorted, though he looked a bit like he wished they had a few more hobbies.

They finished their meal, ordered another round of drinks to enjoy before heading out again, and went over the best possible plan, which basically amounted to retracing their steps in case the siren took on one of the more likely personas later. There were also a limited number of potential victims in a town this small, and Sasha had a few options for them to check out in that regards too.

Jamie was serving them again, as well as tending bar, and brought over their final round of beer.

"We can take the check after these. Thanks, Jamie," Sasha said.

She nodded amiably at him.

"I need to hit the john," Sam said, sliding out of the booth, seated across from them. "No stealing my beer now," he added to Dean, and grinned as he headed off.

Dean huffed, and snagged a sip from Sam's mug just to spite him. Dean liked his Belgian style ale way better than Sam's IPA anyway. Craft beers were as uncommon for them as good food most of the time.

For a minute, Dean mulled over the facts they knew so far, the plan, every angle to this hunt he could think of, but there wasn't much more to say until they hit the road again and hoped they got lucky.

"So…thoughts on the whole Wonder Woman's ever-changing wardrobe discussion?" Dean prompted, since the Amazon had already crossed his mind earlier, and they were on the topic of the New 52.

Sasha shrugged. "I didn't mind the pants. I just prefer her in more gold than silver."

Dean nodded his agreement.

They continued to discuss the vast addition of more red to several DC characters' costumes, before finally veering to Marvel comics instead. Dean had always been more of a DC fan, but his love for Marvel had been growing over the years. Plus Charlie had taught him how to torrent new comics onto Sam's laptop, so he was having an easier time staying current.

"I'm just saying," Sasha said, "I like that the story is interesting and going in a new direction."

"But it's not Spider-Man if it's not Peter Parker."

"What about Ultimate?"

"Totally lame, are you kidding?"

"2099?"

"Future's different; doesn't count."

"But—"

"Batman is Bruce Wayne, Superman is Clark Kent, and Spider-Man is Peter Parker," Dean maintained. He had no patience for this whole Doc Ock took over Peter's body and now he's Spider-Man crap currently happening in the Marvel universe. But he supposed it was better than much of what had been happening leading up to that.

"What about The Flash? He's been several different people," Sasha said. "Or…umm…I know there are others, I'm just drawing a blank. Oh—"

"Green Lanterns don't count. There can be several at a time," Dean interrupted, knowing that's what Sasha would say next.

Sasha pouted, proving Dean had guessed correctly.

"At least admit to me that Mary Jane is the only woman for Peter," Dean implored. "None a that Gwen Stacy being his one true love nonsense."

Finally, Sasha grinned again. "Oh, I won't fight you on that one. Redheads are clearly superior." He leaned into Dean's shoulder and flashed him a sideways flutter of his eyes, then took another swig from his beer. It was half empty already, just like Dean's.

Dean leaned into Sasha in reply, easily picking up on the flirt, and not minding one bit. He felt intensely warm sitting so close to Sasha. He probably needed some air, and the beer was no doubt flushing his face all the more. He hoped it didn't look like he was blushing. He quickly took another drink.

As he looked up into Sasha's eyes again, Dean stilled. They were so blue. He didn't even care that they were really red and slit like a cat's. He didn't care that Sasha had that other gargoyle form, with broad wings, clawed hands and feet, horns, and fangs. In fact he kind of wanted to see the fangs again. Maybe spending so much time with Benny had made him impervious to thinking fangs were abnormal, or maybe it was just the way Sasha's were that more traditional vampire type—just two points on his eyeteeth—but something about them seemed strangely appealing.

"Hey…" Dean said in a low voice, not bothering to move his face out of Sasha's close proximity as he spoke, "…so, ummm…which form is the real you, then? This is just a cover? The wings and everything's the real deal?"

Sasha licked his lips, not bothering to lean back either. "Both are the real me, in a way. But it does take a little effort to look like this, so…yeah, the wings are more the real deal, I guess." He glanced away, like he wasn't entirely comfortable talking about his other self.

Dean frowned. "Coz it was all pretty freaking awesome," he said firmly, waiting for Sasha to look up again, which he did with quite a bit of surprise in his eyes. "Maybe some other guy would think it was scary, but dude, I've fought a freaking dragon. Did you see the siren's real face? How about a changeling? Trust me…your look is still way far on the sexy side." Dean swallowed as he finished speaking. He didn't think he had drunk enough to feel quite this hazy and willing to speak flowery truths, but there they were, tumbling from his lips.

"You think my wings are sexy?" Sasha's voice was a low hum.

"I think your everything's pretty sexy…wings or otherwise."

Suddenly, Sasha's hand was on Dean's thigh, sliding slowly back and forth across it. "All I can think about is fucking you…" he said barely above a whisper, pupils blown to make his eyes look almost black instead of blue.

The abruptness of those words should have startled Dean, the heat, their closeness, how he felt as drunk as he'd felt the other night, but without having drank anywhere near as much. He should have wondered what was keeping Sam. He should have wondered why his own hand crossed the space between them and caught at the edge of Sasha's shirt, where it wanted to just slip underneath and touch skin.

"Dean…" Sasha breathed low, the sides of their hips pressed tight within the booth, and their faces only inches apart. "We had a good time last night, right?" He squeezed Dean's thigh and let his hand slip further inward between Dean's legs.

Dean shifted eagerly, his hand trembling as he touched the skin of Sasha's belly and slowly began pressing up underneath his shirt. "Great time…"

"And you…you don't care that I'm…what I am?" Blue eyes fluttered down then looked up again steadily at Dean.

"If you're asking how I feel about a round two, I think the answer is pretty obvious…" Dean let his fingers dip down instead beneath the waistline of Sasha's jeans.

In response, Sasha let his hand not so subtly move over Dean's growing bulge and pressed his heal into the base. "Really obvious," Sasha purred.

"Really…obvious…" Dean repeated, holding back a moan, then finally had a moment of clarity as his otherwise hazy brain started to wonder—Sam should have been back by now, and why was he allowing this display in public when it was not a good time for a bedroom break?

Even as they both had their hands on each other, right there in the booth, in what was still a fairly crowded bar, their warm breaths mingling from how close their faces were, their bodies molded along the side, Dean knew Sasha's brain caught up with his the moment their eyes met again.

Together they glanced to the tabletop at their nearly empty beers. They were both breathing hard, practically gasping.

"Here's your check, boys," said Jamie as she sidled up and dropped the bill on the table. "Why don't we call it…on the house tonight? I get the feeling you really want to get outta here." She smiled wide at them, not at all like the woman Dean remembered meeting the previous night.

Shit.

Dean wanted to focus his thoughts on Sam. What had happened to him that he never came back from the bathroom? Was he okay? At what point had Jamie been replaced by the siren, and when had she first spiked their drinks? But all he could think about was doing exactly as the bartender had said and getting out of there as quickly as possible. Sasha's room was just a few steps away once they hit the outside air.

Against all of Dean's better instinct, they slid out of the booth, leaving the bill on the table, and moved for the door, shuffling perhaps slightly awkwardly since both of them had moderate erections to tend with. Once they reached the door to Sasha's motel room, modest was an afterthought and Dean was full on straining in his jeans, wanting nothing more than to remove them.

"Dean…" Sasha gasped as he used his key to open the door, "I can't…think straight…"

"I know…me either. All I can think about is—fuck!" Dean ran his hands back through his hair hard, trying to salvage his thoughts, to focus and somehow not let the siren venom win.

Sasha grabbed Dean by his jacket and hauled him into the open room, before slamming the door shut behind them and pressing Dean up against it. It was eerily reminiscent of the night before—deliciously reminiscent. Sasha's mouth latched onto Dean's neck.

Dean groaned, his hips grinding forward against Sasha as he threw his head back. He knew they were in deep trouble, but he couldn't wrap his brain around anything other than Sasha and sex and right the fuck now. He could see the camera on its stand already set up in the room, aimed at the bed—waiting for them. The bitch had found Sasha's room, planned the whole thing.

"Wanna fuck you…" Sasha murmured, sucking on Dean's skin down his neck and collarbone as he grinded mindlessly back against Dean, holding him tight to the door. "But I know we…we shouldn't. We can't. Don't…wanna hurt you…"

"We…we just have to think," Dean said, gripping Sasha's hair and yanking his head back away from him so they could look into each other's eyes. Dean stared hard into what he now saw were Sasha's slit red eyes, glowing brightly with hunger. He tried so hard to tell himself that this was bad, dangerous, and would not end well, but as he prepared himself to push Sasha away, he found himself pulling Sasha in instead for a bruising kiss.

The noises Sasha made were hypnotic and only made Dean grind forward harder, on fire and burning for release. He pushed, but not at Sasha; he pushed away from the door and they started to move into the room. They soon fell against the bed, scrambling up it for a hard surface, and right in line for the camera to record everything.

TBC...


	4. Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sasha have to figure out a way to beat the siren's control or risk killing each other at climax.

Sasha’s eyes weren’t the only incubus attribute that had started to show through. As Dean crawled on top of Sasha, the redhead spread beautifully beneath him on the bed, he noticed the fangs he had wanted to see again and the way the ends of Sasha’s hair had grown longer. His skin looked paler too, and when Sasha reached for Dean’s face, just to gently grip his cheek and tug him down for another kiss, his fingers were black.

Dean’s mind blurred with thoughts of SashaSexFuckNow, as well as DangerBadStopThink, but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t chase away any of the thoughts telling him to keep going with thoughts of sense. He could feel Sasha’s fangs pricking at his lips as they heatedly kissed, a sharp sting of claws in his hair where Sasha had him gripped, and firmness between his legs where Dean was straddling the redhead—firmness that wasn’t all his own.

He wanted to get them both out of their clothes—now.

Sitting up on Sasha’s hips, Dean removed his jacket and layered shirts in one quick lift of tangled fabric over his head, then tossed the offending items aside. He tore at Sasha’s shirt, trying to get it over the incubus’ head in turn, but it was taking too long. Sasha seemed to agree since he took his black, nearly fully formed claws and ripped the shirt off into pieces. Dean ran his tongue over his lips, finding the sight of the torn fabric strangely—intensely—arousing. 

Sasha’s skin was pure white now, save for the black of his clawed hands and feet, and—Dean stared in awe—his wings. They spread out beneath Sasha slowly at first, then stretched and expanded with a great flap of air, large enough that he could have folded them like a black blanket over both of them.

Horns had pushed out from Sasha’s temples, curling up, down, and then inward like a coil. But even as Sasha’s eyes glowed in the slightly dim room, and everything about him was so gloriously monstrous and surreal, Dean’s eyes stayed trained on the wings. 

Maybe it was because of his fear of flying that he found the wings so remarkable. He’d always appreciated birds, like hawks, and even sort of thought bats were cute—not that he’d admit that little factoid aloud. But to see such wings on a man—it was just so different like this. Different…because Sasha made it beautiful.

Spreading his hands out along the inside of both wings, Dean caressed the black skin as he would a great expanse of back or chest. He pressed his fingers in deeply and heard Sasha gasp from the pressure, from the attention. 

“Dean…” Sasha purred in a grumbling lower register, bringing Dean’s attention back to his white face, fangs, and bright glowing eyes. “The camera.”

“I know…” But he didn’t care. He knew he should, but he couldn’t force his brain to work, hard as he tried, and so he felt his resolve to try at all start to slip. He just wanted to touch Sasha. He wanted them to build to climax and come together with Sasha looking at him just like that—with both of them just as they were.

Sasha looked up at Dean as if searching for an anchor, so when he found defeat and surrender, he surrendered too. Dean saw the world tilt and spin, then looked up with a gasp to find Sasha above him, their positions flipped.

“I want to fuck you…” Sasha rumbled, claws spread tentatively over Dean’s chest, a knee on either side of Dean’s hips, with their erections, hard and pulsing, caught in between, caged still by denim. “But Dean…she’ll make me kill you. I’ll kill you.”

What a way to go, Dean thought, then shook his head in vain attempt to clear it. “I don’t know how to fight it,” he admitted, even as he grasped one of Sasha’s wrists and contemplated sucking one of the clawed fingers into his mouth. He licked it instead, careful around the sharp point at the end.

Sasha growled—growled—and Dean pressed his head back into the mattress, letting the pulses of growing need shoot down his spine to his stomach—low. 

Sasha’s jeans had already been ruined at the ankles where his feet formed large raptor like claws. He tore at what remained of them until they were off then returned his attention to Dean. Some mental capacity was still with Dean, because he understood the urgency in that look and immediately shimmied free of his own jeans, taking his underwear off with them, rather than risk Sasha’s claws tugging them free. He had some self-preservation—for now—but for how long?

I want that tongue inside me again… Dean’s thoughts strayed, and all other thoughts fell away.

He spoke his desire, and without a moment’s hesitation, Sasha had Dean’s hips raised, arms hooked under Dean’s knees as he pressed his tongue right where Dean wanted it. The siren venom had Dean so open, so ready and wanting, that he arched up and moaned as that slippery tongue slid all the way in. Sasha couldn’t prepare Dean with gentle fingers—not when those fingers were currently talons—but this was a great start.

Dean trailed a hand down his chest and gave himself a firm, quick stroke. Then another. He felt drunk—dizzy. Like he’d last all night, and that sounded fucking amazing. 

The door opened. Dean barely noticed the noise, because Sasha had pulled back and was guiding Dean’s own fingers down to finish what he’d started—and Dean slipped two fingers in and stretched them with a moan.

“My, my, you two are worth every bit of anxiety getting to this point,” came a female voice, though Dean didn’t recognize it—not Jamie, but definitely the siren. “I almost fled, you know. Almost. But mmm…am I glad I stuck around. You two are going to make beautiful footage. You already are. And you’ve already had quite an impressive amount of hits. Don’t you just love live-streaming?”

Dean shuddered, though he couldn’t be certain if it was at the thought of some sickos watching this—watching an incubus curl him into a ball and have him fuck himself with his fingers—or that his need to stroke that sweet spot inside of him had him really appreciating just how flexible he could be.

Sasha looked back at the siren with a snarl over his shoulder, a deep animalistic snarl that made Dean work his fingers in faster—deeper. The incubus didn’t move off of Dean though, but turned back to look down at him with hunger in his bright red eyes. 

Come on, baby, fuck me, Dean thought. 

A soberer thought followed it. We need to stop this—stop her.

But all he managed to say aloud was, “Sasha,” like a desperate whine.

Sasha’s claws carefully gripped Dean’s wrists, spread them back to either side of Dean’s head on the mattress, and shifted his hips forward. Sasha’s tip was dripping; Dean was so open—the incubus slipped in easier than should be possible, not when Dean had never done this before. It was just that perfect amount of tight and filling and fuck yes. Dean arched his hips with relish, barely even twitching at the small scratches being left on his wrists from Sasha’s claws, and pleaded with his eyes for Sasha to just fuck him into the mattress.

Dean wasn’t a moaner. Almost never uttered a sound. Certainly not like any of the noises being pulled from his throat now. Claws had Dean pinned, Sasha’s wings were spread wide behind him over the bed, Sasha’s horns curled around his long red hair as his eyes flashed and his fangs glinted with a pleased grin. He was monstrous. A monster. But Dean didn’t see it like that.

It had nothing to do with the siren—Dean didn’t see Sasha like that. The beauty he saw, he really believed it. He’d believed it when he thought Sasha was just a man and they’d shared a bed after too many drinks. Wings weren’t going to change that, not when Dean knew better.

With each thrust, each look of heat and wanting that passed between them, there was a brief flicker of horror and apology in Sasha’s eyes. That’s when it dawned on Dean, when he realized that maybe there was a way to beat this.

“Lovely, boys. Lovely. Now come for the camera. And my sweet little incubus…be sure you’re taking more than your fair share as you feed from that poor hunter. Wouldn’t want him walking away from this. And hunter, dear, I believe this belongs to you.”

Dean felt the handle of his demon blade press into his left palm, knowing the feel of it too well to assume it was anything else. Sasha still had Dean’s wrists pinned, but after the siren stepped away again, the incubus released him.

A wave of nausea and fatigue swept through Dean. Sasha feeding—taking too much. It had merely made him sleepy after sex the previous night, but this was different, he knew. This was dangerous. She’d have Dean stab Sasha with the iron, demon-killing blade just as the last of his own energy was drained, killing them both.

Dean gave a sharp cry of pleasure as Sasha pounded him harder, the incubus’ slit red eyes shimmering with terror. This was happening and there was nothing they could do about it. 

But there was something they could do. Dean was certain of it now. Even as he passed the blade to his right hand and held it at the ready, he looked at Sasha above him and spoke plainly.

“I want you to fuck me…”

Sasha cringed, defeated.

“I want you to fuck me,” Dean said again, “not because of her, but because I want to, just like I wanted to last night. It’s not her. It’s me. It’s you. It’s us. Fuck her. If we want this for us then she doesn’t have any control.” Dean reached for Sasha’s neck with his free hand and pulled the incubus’ face closer to his own. “Do you want me, baby…? Do you want this?”

Sasha’s eyes fluttered closed, then opened intensely, as sweet sensations of orgasm built around the dull pulse Dean felt of his energy draining. Sasha ran a tongue over his fangs. “I told you…I wanted you from the moment you first sat next to me in that bar.”

“Hell yeah, you did,” Dean choked out through another moan, and kissed Sasha bruisingly deep. The hand with the knife still gripped on tight, but Dean focused on that thought—that he wanted this for his own sake, not because of any control from the siren, and if he was in control of the sexy part then he could beat the rest of it too.

A low growl rumbled in Sasha’s throat appreciatively, and Dean bucked up again, causing him to gasp from the kiss at how deeply Sasha struck within him. He was tingling from sensation, and he loved it. Because he wanted it.

“Get ready…only…one chance…” Dean gasped a breathy whisper into Sasha’s shoulder. 

Sasha nodded, then gripped Dean around the hips and lifted him, pulling Dean into his lap and giving Dean a perfect view of the siren standing smug and leering beside the camera. 

Dean wrapped his arms around Sasha’s shoulders and slowly cut a long line with the blade along his own left arm, catching just enough of his blood on the blade. He looked up and grinned at the confused siren, then wound his right arm back and threw the knife straight at her. It struck the siren clean in the shoulder—not his best shot, but it’d have to do. 

The siren howled in surprise and pain as the wound crackled with the briefest wave of what it would have done to a demon. Her own venom in Dean’s bloodstream was enough to hurt her, but they had to get her in the heart before she’d die.

Sasha slid carefully out of Dean, set him gently on the bed, then spun with inhuman speed and leapt at the siren with his wings spread wide and claws outstretched. She shrieked as he descended on her, clawing her with a fury that Dean felt too. Sasha had drained him enough that he felt dizzy, and he was still painfully hard. He lay back on the bed, watching, grinning, as the incubus snatched the knife free from the siren’s shoulder and resheathed it where it belonged. Her final cry died off in a gasp.

As Sasha let the siren drop dead to the ground, he turned to face Dean, still transformed and gloriously dangerous looking with a bit of blood smeared across his white chest. He looked on Dean in awe, much the same way Dean imagined he was staring back.

Dean shifted his hips and spread his legs, feeling a great tightness having lifted with the release of the siren’s control, but damn it, he was not letting this end unfinished. “You think…you got enough control left in you to finish the job without making me pass out?” Dean knew he might be a glutton for punishment, and offering to let an incubus feed from him when he was already pretty well drained was borderline stupid, but he had confidence in his priorities.

Sasha stalked back toward the bed. “I have very impressive self-control, Mr. Winchester,” he said with a grin, his voice a deep sexy growl that made Dean’s dick twitch. The redhead slithered up the bed, gripped Dean under the knees as he had before, and reconnected right where they’d left off.

The siren, whatever her power did, its absence made Dean feel the ache just a little more as Sasha thrust inside him, but he was still stretched and wet and buzzing from arousal that he hardly noticed. He stared with even more amazement at Sasha’s incubus form—amazed both at the sight of it all and at how much it turned him on. He was thankful though when Sasha, having his control back, morphed one of his hands human and gripped Dean’s shaft to pump him into climax with him.

Dean moaned through it all, wantonly, unashamed, because the way he felt deserved a moan of approval—he’d never experienced something like this before, laced with the adrenaline of a hunt well done. Not that he’d ever go looking for this type of situation, but he was pretty sure he was about to overdose from the endorphin rush. 

Sasha came first, a swift disconnect and then release against Dean’s thigh—which was hot and unexpected and had Dean twitching and shaking as he came soon after. They remained that way, frozen in position, and simply stared at each other, smiling, for several moments. Dean was only vaguely conscious of the still filming camera. A bang on the door and following crash as it was broken down caught his attention significantly more.

“Oh…my god. Dean, are you—” came Sam’s concerned and flustered voice as he took in the scene.

Dean waved a hand up over Sasha’s shoulder to indicate he had not been ravaged to death as feared—though embarrassed to death was a given, not that he could give it too much thought right now when there wasn’t anything to be done about it. “Fine, Sammy. Just outsexed the sex demon and figured this hunt deserved a happy ending.”

Sasha snorted.

Sam gave a choked huff, and Dean heard the door being carefully put back in place, then sounds of the camera being fiddled with. 

Dean and Sasha disentangled slowly, and Dean took a moment to just lie on the mattress and catch his breath. He knew the room would spin once he sat up—he was still fairly drained, much as he’d enjoyed most of it—but eventually figured he should get decent so Sam wouldn’t have to keep his eyes averted while working to clean up the scene.

They used the sheets to clean off as best they could, Sasha changed into his human form, and they both got dressed. Sasha grabbed a new shirt from his duffle since he’d ruined the one he’d been wearing—Dean had almost forgotten they were in Sasha’s motel room—and they moved to help Sam finish the job.

As per usual on a hunt like this they’d have to dispose of the body and clean up any other remaining mess. Sasha wanted to check if the real Jamie was still alive, and Sam was insistent to get that footage offline as quickly as possible. As it turned out though, when they used Sasha’s laptop to check the siren’s website again, every comment left on the live-stream video was negative.

This is all a lie!

Fraud! I thought this was real!

Nice special effects, but I’m never coming back here again!

Apparently, seeing a gargoyle have sex with some blond guy proved the videos were fakes. Of course Dean still wanted to track all those assholes down for enjoying the site because they had believed it was real sex and death—which it had been—but there wasn’t much they could do. Once again all Dean could think was: Demons he got. Humans are crazy.

Sam admitted he’d been knocked out while leaving the bathroom and was stuffed into a utility closet until he came to. He said he didn’t want to hear the details of how they’d beaten the siren, but was thankful that they had. If he blushed a little the rest of the night any time his eyes fell on Dean or Sasha, well, Dean knew better than to tease him about it.

XXXXX

“Yeah, Garth, I know,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes. He’d been stuck on the phone with the gangly hunter all morning, as Garth wanted every little detail about the hunt—something about keeping good records so future hunters could try similar tactics. 

Dean had calmly explained that if another hunter ever found himself in the exact same situation that he had been in, he would use his father’s journal for toilet paper. Garth made a Dances with Wolves remark and let the matter drop.

“I got it, I got it, I’ll ask him,” Dean said, giving Sasha a nod when the redhead looked over with a questioning head-tilt.

Sasha had ended up crashing with them considering the state of his own room, and when Sam made a crack about Sasha sharing Dean’s bed—they’d slept together twice, the least Dean could do was share his bed with the guy—Dean had asked for a reminder of Sam’s recent sex life which shut Sasquatch up pretty quickly.

Meanwhile, Sam was currently snickering as he packed his bag, while Dean sat on his bed and flipped his brother the bird.

“Seriously, dude, we’re ready to hit the road. We’ll call again once we’re closer. Just don’t do anything stupid until we get there. Okay? We’ll see you in a few hours.” Dean promptly hung up before Garth could offshoot into any other tangents.

“So he’s going to wait for us?” Sam asked as he slung his bag over his shoulder to take it out to the car. 

“Unless he really wants to anger a coven of vampires by himself,” Dean scoffed. He stood and turned to Sasha. “He said he’d like it if you came along too, since it’s such a big job, and we…‘work so well together’,” he said with air quotes, since he’d heard the innuendo over the phone when Garth said it and felt they were necessary.

Sasha snickered, ready with his own bag as well. “If you don’t mind me riding in the backseat. I hitched to this town. Don’t often have a steady vehicle myself.”

Dean nodded. He’d been hoping Sasha might say that.

Sam headed for the door. “More the merrier,” he said, then blanched. “In the car! Not that I meant…not…” He turned beet red then bolted out the door.

Laughter erupted out of Dean free and easy, as it always did where Sam and embarrassment were concerned. His ‘enlightened’ baby brother sure could use a lesson in tact. And he always said Dean was the awkward one where anything gay was involved—of course Dean had never walked in on Sam naked with another man. 

Incubus. 

Whatever.

“So, Dean,” Sasha said as they headed for the door together, “that whole thing, you know…what happened last night. And the night before,” he added with a smirk.

“Yeah?” Dean prompted slowly.

“Well, since we’ll be hunting together again, I just want you to know…I wouldn’t be opposed to a third time.”

Dean held back the larger grin that threatened to spread over his face. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You have that gorgeous car, and well, I get the feeling you’re one hell of a driver. Be nice to find out for myself.” Sasha winked, then moved ahead of Dean for the Impala’s passenger side door as they left the motel.

Dean’s steps stuttered as he registered Sasha’s meaning. Sam was already safely in the front seat, staring forward like he didn’t want to risk saying anything else stupid.

Eh, he’ll get over it eventually, Dean thought.

As he passed Sasha on his way to the trunk, he gave a careful look around to be sure no one was out on the street watching them, and swatted the redhead’s perfect ass in those too-tight jeans. “You read my mind, baby. But if Garth walks in on us this time…we’re killing the witnesses.”

Sasha laughed. “Might take a while, seeing as how many people saw that video. Of course, we erased it from the web, so…guess we just have to be sure no one gets a hold of your phone.” He tossed Dean another wink as he slipped into the backseat.

Dean paled for maybe a moment as he opened up the trunk. After depositing his bag next to Sam’s, he slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and checked his recent downloads. Low and behold there was a new video, and as Dean started to play it, he swallowed low in his throat. Sure it was all part of some psycho’s fetish, but…plenty of the footage was good—straight up, gut-wrenchingly sexy. Dean tugged at his jeans as he watched Sasha start to transform in the video then clicked his phone closed. He’d have to watch the rest again later.

The trunk slammed shut with a resounding bang of finality. Siren dead. New hunter on their ‘sane enough to work with’ list. Plenty of regular sex on the horizon. Dean didn’t even feel that lightheaded anymore after a good night’s sleep. Apparently he recovered from feeding an incubus rather quickly, which seemed like a pretty fair trade off.

Yep, Dean thought. Totally worth it.

XXXXX

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this little foray back into the Supernatural fandom took longer to complete than I anticipated, but I'm glad I did it. Thank you so much for reading and commenting, please check out Incubus on either BigWorldNetwork.com or Amazon, and stay tuned for future fics and stories from yours truly. Thanks! And as always...
> 
> ...see ya next ficcie!


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